Annealing
by dareyoutoread
Summary: When Miles thought he'd locked his heart up behind enough steel walls that no one could find it, his brother's daughter Charlie had come along and jumped those walls in one unfair leap: "Because we're family."
1. Recovery

**Author's Note: I don't own _Revolution_ or any of its characters, and the following is intended purely for fan entertainment and not for personal financial gain. So please don't sue me for playing in someone else's sandbox for a little while. :-)**

_**Annealing:**__ "a heat treatment wherein a material is altered, causing changes in its properties such as hardness and ductility. ...Annealing is used to induce ductility, soften material, relieve internal stresses, refine the structure by making it homogeneous and improve cold working properties. ...The first stage is __**recovery**__, and it results in softening of the metal through removal of crystal defects...and the internal stresses which they cause. ...The second stage is __**recrystallization**__, where new strain-free grains nucleate and grow to replace those deformed by internal stresses." (Wikipedia)_

_Recovery_

Miles Matheson knows that damn girl is going to get him killed. He's thought it over a hundred times since she burst into his bar, blue eyes sparking, and uprooted his sad excuse for a life.

She's impetuous, naive, pushy, cocky, and insecure rolled all into one package. But she's also brave, hopeful, strong and determined, and she sees the best in people - even him. When he thought he'd locked his heart up behind enough steel walls that no one could find it, his brother's daughter Charlie had come along and jumped those walls in one unfair leap: _"Because we're family."_

So although, inevitably, Charlie Matheson is going to get him killed, Miles finds he's actually grateful to the girl, because it feels _so good _to feel something in his life that's not guilt or fear or pain. To be known by someone who loves him and looks up to him more than she fears him. To be part of someone's _family_.

She stirs in her sleep and Miles absently reaches a hand down and tugs the blankets of her bedroll up over her shoulders. It's reaching that coldest part of the night - sometime between 3 and 4 a.m. - and he's shivering inside his leather jacket as he sits watch over their camp.

_If Ben could see you now…_ His older brother had always sworn he'd had a caring side, and Miles had always laughed it off. He'd taken their parents' love, Ben's love, for granted and never seen a need to reciprocate gestures of affection. But in wrapping his arms around Charlie as she cried over Maggie's death, Miles had discovered something he'd been missing all his life, and though it pained his steel-walled soul to do so, he'd begun, slowly, to drill holes to let some of his love out for Charlie and the rest of their ragtag crew.

"You're different with her." Nora's voice, soft from the bedroll at his right, brushes across Miles' ear as she rises to take watch. "Softer."

Miles shrugs, standing to give up his spot to Nora. "She's family."

"She's good for you." Nora smiles as she passes him and rests a hand briefly on Miles' shoulder. Normally, he'd turn and brush the comment, and her hand, aside. Tonight, he grabs her hand and squeezes briefly, shooting her the barest of smiles. It's enough, and he sees the gesture take effect as Nora's small smile blossoms into a full-blown grin. "Careful, Matheson," she whispers, "or I might think you're really going soft."

He probably is, but damned if it doesn't feel good.


	2. Recrystallization

**Author's Note: Thank you to those of you who read and reviewed the last chapter! To my not-logged-in reviewers - I really appreciate your encouraging comments, and I'm sorry I couldn't respond to you personally! Here's another chapter with dear Mr. Miles, as requested. :-)_  
_**

_Recrystallization_

The day Miles watches Aaron teach Nora and Charlie how to play "Apples to Apples," he remembers what it feels like to laugh.

Aaron had found the game in an abandoned house near their campground that night. Nora and Charlie don't understand half the cards and keep making matches that don't make any sense, and Aaron is crying from laughing so hard when Charlie matches "Sexy" with "Martha Stewart" that even Miles lets out a chuckle.

The game is actually a sad commentary on the lack of history education in the post-Blackout world, but this is Charlie's real gift, he realizes: To make people laugh when they ought to be crying.

So Miles laughs. He laughs at Aaron's eye rolls, Nora's assertion that "Vampires" are "Cuddly," and Charlie's overexcitement every time she wins a new card. After three rounds of Charlie's persistent begging, Miles even joins in and plays a round with the group. Aaron draws "Deadly" and Miles wins with "Losing Your Job." Miles draws "Global;" Aaron shoots him a look and plays "A Used Car Lot" for the definitive win. Charlie picks up "Explosive;" Nora plays "Baked Potatoes" and takes the card.

Then Nora draws "Visionary." Miles plays "Walt Disney" and has to explain to Charlie what a theme park is. Aaron plays "Milk Duds" and claims he didn't have a better card.

Charlie plays a blank card with "Benjamin Franklin" scrawled on it in faded black marker. "I don't know who he is," she says, "but the only other card I had was 'Zucchini'…"

Aaron looks at the card, then up to Charlie's eyes. "He discovered electricity."

There's a pause around their little circle and a brief, uncomfortable silence before Charlie's blue eyes flash and she exclaims, "Then I _definitely _win!"

They all have a good chuckle, Nora passes Charlie the "Visionary" card and the game ends in a 5/5 tie between Charlie and Aaron.

They head to their bedrolls not long after that, and Miles takes first watch. His abs hurt from laughing so hard - it's been _ages _since anything in his life seemed so funny - and suddenly, he realizes that he has lost.

Sometime during that game, in the middle of all that laughter and friendship and camaraderie, he lost the battle to keep his walls up. He's not sure which laugh finally cracked the steel for good, but now he can't look at Charlie or the others, asleep in their bedrolls, without _feeling_.

And suddenly, it all comes clear to him. _This _is his punishment. He's always known he was due a reckoning for all the lives he'd destroyed. He'd just always thought it would be more along the lines of torture, either here or in Hell.

But this is much, much worse.

Because now, when Charlie Matheson does, inevitably, get him killed, Miles Matheson - evil mastermind of the Monroe Republic and hopelessly loving uncle to his impossibly optimistic niece - actually has something to lose.


	3. Grain Growth

**AN: Thanks to my last reviewer, who gave me a kick in the pants to post this update. Now, onward!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own; don't sue, etc.  
**

_"If annealing is allowed to continue once recrystallization has been completed, then _**_grain growth_**_ (the third stage) occurs. In grain growth, the microstructure starts to coarsen and may cause the metal to have less than satisfactory mechanical properties." _(Wikipedia)

_Grain Growth_

The day Miles wakes up and Charlie is missing from camp, it takes the calm, collected former General less than thirty seconds to get into a full-blown panic.

Nobody's seen where she went, but her bag is gone and her tracks disappear after ten feet; neither he nor Nora can pick up the trail. Miles slams Aaron up against a tree trunk for falling asleep on watch and nearly comes to blows with Nora when she does pick up the trail and then loses it a second time. It's not the first time he's been angry in front of them, but it's the first time they've actually looked afraid of him.

And maybe they should be. Because, Miles realizes in that moment, he will _kill _to get Charlie back - as many people as it takes - mass murder on a scale that would make his work for the Militia look like a teenage prank. He will sell his soul to the devil a hundred thousand times over and not regret it if it brings Charlie back safe.

He will become all that he was and worse.

It's a frightening thought, but not as frightening as the one that follows on its heels: For the first time, Miles understands Rachel Matheson. He'd been surprised when she'd actually shown up in Philadelphia at his request, but even more so when she'd refused to leave with him.

She'd been afraid, of course - afraid that if she left, Monroe would hunt down and murder Ben and her children in retribution. Miles had thought her selfish. The knowledge she had, in Monroe's hands, could destroy thousands of lives. Family or not, the potential sacrifice of Ben, Danny, and Charlie was nothing when stacked up against the bloodshed that would ensue when Monroe eventually broke her. And he would, eventually.

If he could have without endangering his own escape, Miles would have knocked Rachel unconscious and dragged her out himself, but the woman became an entirely different person when the safety of her children was threatened. Even Miles Matheson would have had trouble subduing her without a struggle that would have drawn her guards' attention.

So he'd left her there, and he'd hated himself for it. And then he'd hunkered down in Chicago to wait for Doomsday.

He hadn't seen it at the time, but now, in that action of leaving Rachel alive in Monroe's camp, Miles can see the seeds of what he's willing to do for Charlie. If he'd really wanted to protect thousands of innocent people, he would have run his sword through Rachel's heart when she refused to leave with him. Problem solved. Had it been anyone else Monroe was holding captive, that's exactly what Miles would have done.

But family is different.

And even then, Miles Matheson's blackened soul had known it.

They find Charlie an hour later, a mile and a half from their camp, pinned down behind a boulder by a couple of scavengers with crossbows. Miles kills them so fast the two don't even see it coming and then turns, blood dripping off his sword, and lays into Charlie for leaving camp alone.

He barely hears her trying to explain that she told Aaron (he must have already been sleeping), that she just went out to hunt, that she thought they all could use a decent breakfast for once. He just shouts her down the way he would a Militia recruit until she's crying and he's angry and exhausted.

But never once in that ten-minute tirade does he say what he's really thinking.

"Haven't you learned anything on this trip?" _You scared the hell out of me._

"If you'd spend three seconds thinking about someone other than yourself and Danny…" _Do you know what it would do to me if you ran off and got hurt?_

"I'm tired of running around trying to save your sorry ass." _I've already been a monster. I'm afraid of what I'll become if you die._

"…totally irresponsible, selfish little brat…" _You're family._ My _family._

When he's finished, he stands there watching the tears run down Charlie's face and feeling like a jerk. Nora brushes by him and wraps her arms around Charlie, shooting him a look that could melt metal. Aaron hangs in the background, and won't meet his eyes.

Miles bends to clean his blade on one of the scavengers' jackets; as he does, he catches sight of the two men's faces for the first time.

There's an unmistakable family resemblance. Probably brothers.

Miles stands, fighting back a sick feeling. As he sheathes his sword, his hands shake.

Nora, Aaron, and Charlie walk ten paces behind him the rest of the day. Charlie doesn't leave camp alone again, but she also doesn't speak to him much for the next week.

And each night that week, as Miles stands watch, he looks over at Charlie, peaceful in her sleep, and then out into the darkness. And Miles Matheson thinks that if this is what it means to have family, he's not sure he'll survive it.


	4. Bonding

**AN: Phew! Sorry about the week-long hiatus, but here's an extra long update to make up for it!**  
**Warnings: In this section begin many of the reasons this fic is rated "T": some bad language, hints of violence, even a bit of sensuality (gasp)! Please don't read if those things will bother you. Thanks. :-)**  
**Disclaimer:"Revolution" and its characters don't belong to me, and I'm not making any money off of this fic, although it's sure providing me with a lot of entertainment.**

_"Metallic bonding accounts for many physical properties of metals, such as strength, malleability, [and] ductility…this type of bonding is collective in nature and a single "metallic bond" does not exist." _- Wikipedia

_Bonding_

The day Miles and Charlie take down an entire Militia nest of five all by their lonesome, Nora grins and jabs Miles in the side.

"She fights just like her old man," she says, nodding her head toward Charlie.

Miles snorts as he rifles through a dead soldier's supplies, not looking at Nora. "Ben couldn't swing a sword to save his - " He falls abruptly silent, and his hands pause in their search of the soldier's rucksack. When he speaks next, his low voice has lost any trace of humor. "It's not like that, Nora. I'd be a piss-poor replacement for Ben."

Without turning around, he can hear the sad smile in Nora's voice. "Of all the things you're good at, Miles, knowing what 'it's like' really isn't one of them."

Charlie interrupts them as she jogs over with a bright smile, carrying three rifles and a backpack full of rations. Miles is still trying to push Nora's words out of his mind when he glances up at his niece; her lip is split and her jacket, torn just above her right elbow. He shoves back a surge of anxious _what if_s and grumbles, "Told you not to stick your elbow out like a chicken wing when you fight."

Charlie looks at the rip in her jacket like she didn't see it before. "Well, you should see the other guy."

"It's not a joke, Charlie. Shape up or you'll stay in camp next time."

He can't tell if she's just high on endorphins from the fight or if she's irritated and trying to get under his skin, but she keeps pushing it:

"But we could be Miles Matheson and the dreaded One-Armed Bandit! The most fearsome-"

Miles whirls to his feet and grabs her jacket, holding it until she meets his eyes. "_Charlie. _This is not a comic book." The kid probably doesn't even know what a comic book is. "People die all the time in combat because they don't fix stupid bad habits like this one." He releases his hold on her jacket and jabs at her torn sleeve. "Fix it, or stay back."

"You can't just keep me from fighting." She steps back, pulling her sleeve away with an irritated jerk.

"Watch me."

"What are you gonna do? Tie me to a tree?"

Aaron's arrival provides a welcome interruption as he jogs into the clearing. "I heard shouting. What happened?"

Nora gestures at the fallen Militia soldiers. "Ambush. Miles and Charlie sorted it out."

Aaron raises an eyebrow at Charlie, who grins and actually _blushes_ a little. God help them all, the kid's _proud _of herself.

Miles takes the momentary distraction to step forward, pulls the three rifles' straps off Charlie's shoulder, and slings them over his own. She glares at him, but remains blessedly silent.

Aaron looks around again at the dead soldiers. "Well, I'm glad we're not drawing attention to ourselves or anything," he mumbles, eyeing the scattered bodies and blood-soaked foliage.

Miles' sigh is pained. "Everyone's a critic." He scans the clearing once more for usable supplies, passes one of the rifles from his shoulder to Nora and the other to Aaron - who blinks slowly at it before hoisting it over one of his wide shoulders - and continues: "Aaron's right, though. We'd better keep moving. We weren't exactly quiet, and it won't take long before there's more Militia headed our way."

His troops - when had he begun to think of them that way? - nod at him and hustle out of the clearing, backtracking toward the river they've been following for the last three days.

That night, they make camp three miles from the river to, as Miles says, "stay off the Militia's radar." Then he has to explain to Charlie what radar is, and then explain that it's just a saying that means "stay where they can't find you easily," because of course the Militia doesn't actually have radar - unless Monroe has gotten his hands on Aaron's pendant, in which case the Militia could have a whole hell of a lot of things that Miles doesn't want to think about. Either way, they're far enough from the river to be off any radar, real or figurative.

They eat their stolen Militia field rations for dinner - home-canned green beans and peaches, and dried, salted strips of something Miles assumes (hopes) is venison. Everyone gets twice as much as they usually eat, and Miles justifies it by pointing out that they need to travel fast and light, which means ditching the heavy glass canning jars as fast as possible.

After dinner, Miles digs a shallow hole and he and Nora bury the empty jars and drag some dead branches over the spot to erase any trace of their presence from Militia tracking scouts. He's just smoothing dirt over the hole when Nora nudges him and nods at something behind his right shoulder. He tenses for a moment until he turns and catches sight of Charlie, practicing her swordplay. She's walking through the cuts, thrusts, and parries he taught her, and every so often, she stops, looks at her right elbow...and tucks it in.

A strange warmth spreads through Miles' chest - a surge of…pride? It's been so damn long since he's been proud of _anything _ he's done that he has trouble recognizing the feeling. His vision goes a little blurry and he blinks it away, watching Charlie dispatch two imaginary opponents - with her elbow neatly tucked - before turning back to Nora.

Nora shoots him a gentle, steady smile. "_That's _what it's like, you idiot."

Miles swallows past an odd lump in his throat and rolls his eyes. "Shut up." But even his mild irritation at Nora can't dispel the warm feeling in his chest or the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Miles says nothing when Charlie returns to camp that night, hair plastered with sweat, rubbing her obviously sore sword arm. He just picks up the rifle from next to the log he's been sitting on, walks over to Charlie, and hangs the strap over her shoulder. She looks up at him with wide eyes and then smiles like the sun.

He's already walking back to his seat when his niece _whumps _into him from behind, knocking the wind out of him and pinning his arms to his sides in a giant bear hug. Miles comes a hairsbreadth from doing her serious bodily harm before his mind shouts down his instincts. Instead, he settles for standing, tense and awkward, as Charlie tries to squeeze all the air out of his lungs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Nora and Aaron grinning like idiots.

"Okay, Charlie," he says after a minute. "I get it. You're happy." He disentangles himself from the hug, turns around, and puts his hands on Charlie's shoulders, which serves the dual purpose of allowing him to look at her and keeping her at arm's length. "Nora's gonna show you how to use that tomorrow. In the meantime, keep this safety on - " he gestures - "and don't blow anybody's head off." Charlie looks like she's about to hug him again, so he turns her forcibly around and pushes her back toward her own seat.

She turns that happy, hopeful stare on him again and it pulls the next words out of him despite himself: "You did all right today, kid." He didn't think it was possible for her grin to widen, but it does. Miles shakes his head, turns away, and grunts, "Yeah, well, don't let that go to your head."

He takes the first watch that night, and the others, with full bellies, drop off to sleep faster than usual. Charlie's sleeping with her new rifle next to her bedroll, and Miles checks three times to make sure she isn't going to shoot herself in her sleep.

Nora takes watch next, brushing by him a little closer than strictly necessary, and if he wasn't so damn tired, he'd think about why that is. As it is, when Miles finally falls into his own bedroll, he passes out almost immediately. His dreams are indistinct blurs of images and feelings - the dreams of an exhausted mind - but there are a few more familiar faces - Ben, Nora, Aaron, and Charlie - and for once, nobody dies.

He wakes, several hours later, and for a moment he doesn't know why. Then a warm body presses up against his under the blankets and he experiences a second of panicked confusion before he realizes it's Nora. It's pitch black, but scent and memory forge strong bonds and the familiar jasmine-and-gunpowder smell of Nora's dark hair is suddenly playing havoc with Miles' brain.

"Who's on watch?" he mumbles into her hair. That smell is bringing back all sorts of memories he really doesn't need right now. What the hell is she doing here? He breathes in again, a little deeper, and a surge of desire hitches his breath. Shit. Get it together, Matheson.

He thinks about just shoving her out. He sure as hell doesn't need this kind of complication right now. But he finds he can't directly question her presence there. She'd been free to come and go from his bed when he was General, and although she hasn't done so since their reunion, he's damned if he's going to be the one to break their old agreement. Especially not when she presses up against him, close enough that her breath warms his neck.

Well, hell. Apparently, Charlie's adopted him as her surrogate dad, so he's in way over his head there already. Why not with Nora, too? He snakes a hand around to the small of her back to pull her closer, and that's when he realizes she's wearing just a tank top. He pushes it up an inch, fingers spreading over her smooth, muscled back, feeling his heart rate jack up immediately. Shit. He is so screwed.

"Aaron and Charlie are both on watch," she's saying, her voice remarkably steady. "They like to keep each other awake. Your next turn isn't for another three hours."

He raises an eyebrow, though the effect is largely lost in the dark, and rolls until he's leaning over Nora, teeth grazing her ear as he whispers, "And you had to climb all the way in here to tell me that?" He's proud of the fact that he manages to sound like a smartass despite his heart beating hard enough that he can hardly hear the words.

She sighs against his cheek, and the whole side of his neck comes alive with fire. "I was wrong about you. On the Georgia border."

Miles' stomach drops. He remembers that night. It's burned into him even deeper than the jasmine-and-gunpowder smell of her hair. He can still see her, standing in his command tent three miles from the Georgia border, face streaked with rain and mud and blood, as he washed the blood of a dead _16-year-old _rebel girl off his hands. A damn teenager. And Nora - brave, opinionated-to-a-fault Nora - had been the only one in the whole damn camp who'd seen anything wrong with it. She'd told him that he'd lost his soul to Monroe and his Militia, and he'd lashed out at her because, deep down, he'd known she was right.

She'd stuck around with the Militia for another month, but she'd never appeared in his bed again.

And now here she is. Saying she'd been wrong.

Had she?

Miles rolls flat on his back, heart still hammering, putting some distance between himself and Nora and staring up through the trees into the star-filled sky. A memory springs unbidden to his mind - him and Bass, sitting on the hood of his car an hour after the Blackout, waiting for the lights to come back on. Bass had marveled at the multitude of stars they could see without any light pollution and quipped, "I could get used to this."

Then, for the next fifteen years, they'd had to.

That uncomfortable lump is back in his throat. He's gotten used to a lot of strange things in fifteen years. He'd gotten used to goddamn pirate swords, crossbows, and candlelight, to a world where bread was baked in a brick oven with a fire underneath it, mail came by horseback (if at all), and steel was smelted by hand, and he'd gotten used to a lot of terrible things - murder and terror and torture methods straight out of the fucking Dark Ages - but somehow, now, he can't get used to the idea that he's worthy of having this family of people who trust and care about him.

"You weren't wrong," he finally says, his voice flat. "Not then." Wind rustles the treetops above and the stars wink in and out of existence as they're covered by shifting branches.

Suddenly, Nora's weight comes to rest fully on top of him, molding into every inch of his body. The silhouette of her face blocks out the stars. "Fine," she whispers. "Then I'm not wrong now, either."

She leans down slowly, and ghosts her lips across his in a kiss.

Miles leans into it, his fingers tangling in her hair almost automatically, and when Nora's lips part to let him in, the fire roars back up in his veins and he forgets about everything else and just prays that Nora's belief in him (that Charlie's, that Aaron's) is justified and that he really is the good man they all seem to think he is.

By the time Nora leaves his bedroll the next morning, Miles almost believes she's right.


	5. Alchemy

**Author's Note: This chapter fought me kicking and screaming, but we've finally come to a mutually agreeable standoff, so here it is. This is actually the last chapter of this story, but look for a longer multi-chap that picks up about where the mid-season finale left off, coming soon. It will be world-compliant with this story, but you'll get POVs from more characters, including Bass!**

**Also, so far I've been playing "in between chapters" of canon, so to speak, but since I was already post-"Ties that Bind" in my last installment, I actually had to slip this one into the three-hour window of empty time in "Kashmir." Thus, we open with that scene - yes, the one you're thinking of - from near the end of the episode.**

**Disclaimer: Characters and show don't belong to me; neither do the few lines of dialogue lifted from "Kashmir." Don't sue; just for fun; etc.**

_**al·che·my**_  
_/ˈalkəmē/_  
_Noun_  
_ 1. The medieval forerunner of chemistry, based on the supposed transformation of matter, esp. that of base metals into gold._  
_ 2. A process by which paradoxical results are achieved or incompatible elements combined with no obvious rational explanation._

- Google Dictionary

_Alchemy_

It's taken more than a month of traveling to shakily reforge Miles Matheson's new world. It takes less than a second to shatter it.

Wheatley falls in slow motion, raising his gun, and Charlie is already ducking out of the way, but the barrel's moving faster than she is and when Miles hears the crack of the pistol, he knows - _knows _- it's over. Charlie flies backward and Miles jolts like somebody shoved an ice pick from his heart through his stomach.

He's kneeling at her side with no memory of how he got there, and dammit, _she's _the one who's supposed to get _him _killed, not the other way around.

They haven't even gotten into Philly yet.

It's just too damn early.

Nora's voice is soft, but she tries to look him right in the eyes when she answers his question, same way she would on a goddamn battlefield, and Miles knows that look because he's seen it before, so he twists his head away and refuses to meet her eyes, because seeing _that look _will make this real.

He looks at Charlie instead, and keeps talking, because she's going to open her eyes any second, and because he can't - _can't _- fall apart in front of Nora and Aaron. "Charlie, c'mon…Hey, I promise, _I am going to get Danny back_. You can count on me, 'kay? But I need you to open -" His voice cracks, but he holds it together and forces the words out: "- just _open your eyes_, okay?"

Not even a flutter. "Dammit, Charlie, just open your eyes. _Come on_, open them!"

There's an interminable pause…and then, finally, Charlie stirs. Slowly, her eyes crack open. Miles feels a flood of relief so intense it shakes his whole body.

"Hey, kid…" He's certain that at least Nora can hear the tremor in his voice. "You okay?"

His niece turns her head to the side, winces, and gives him the ghost of her usual smile. Miles releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, heart hammering like he's sprinted a couple hundred meters. Charlie half-smiles against his hand, and then he backs off, slumping onto the stairs as Aaron and Nora crowd around Charlie to make sure for themselves that she's all right.

He lets Nora and Aaron take it from there, concentrating on securing their position as best he can while Aaron helps Charlie sit up and Nora finds her a clean cloth to hold against her still-bleeding head wound.

When he announces, a raw edge to his voice, that they're staying put for at least two hours, not one of them (including Charlie) argues with him.

Charlie wants to sleep, which Miles vetoes immediately, after which (thankfully) Aaron volunteers to trade jokes with her to help keep her awake. Miles waits until Aaron has sat down next to Charlie and started in with a knock-knock joke about a cow, then puts Nora on patrol and mumbles something about going for a walk.

He makes it around a corner about seventy feet down the tunnel before his legs buckle.

He ducks into an old storage alcove and grabs at the nearest wall for support, sliding into a sitting position. He's shaking and sweating, and he knows it's just residual nerves, but this hasn't happened to him since his first tour in Afghanistan - about a million years ago - and it hits him so suddenly that he's intensely glad he's alone. The _crack, crack _of Wheatley's gunshot, followed by Charlie's head hitting the stairs, plays over and over and over on a looped track in his head.

Miles rubs his eyes with shaking hands, then leans back against the cool concrete, just trying to get his breathing under control. Holy hell. He'd known he was getting in deep with this new family of his, but thinking he was going to lose Charlie...

Immediately, he's brought back to a memory of the one and only time he'd ever taken Charlie for a ride in his car - four blocks, to the ice cream store and back. It had _been _the one and only time, because when he'd roared back into the Mathesons' driveway, the Challenger's tires squealing on the pavement and little four-year-old Charlie laughing her head off in the backseat, Ben Matheson had burst out the front door, angrier than Miles had ever seen him, and torn into Miles for "endangering his daughter" with his "reckless behavior." Miles is pretty sure the conversation had also included phrases like "driving like a maniac," and "_my _child!"

He'd gotten angry with Ben and had delivered some harsh words of his own, then roared away in his Challenger, feeling totally justified in setting Ben straight about his paranoid, uptight behavior.

After that, neither Ben nor Rachel had let him drive Charlie anywhere ever again.

If he weren't so rattled, he's sure he could see the irony in the fact that he's now escorting her halfway across a crumbling, anarchic republic full of looters, bandits, rebels, and Militia lunatics with guns, all of whom seem to want to shoot them on sight.

It's one hell of a trip to the ice cream store.

Of course now, he's sorry - good God, is he sorry - for yelling at his brother that day, because what he hadn't understood at the time was that Ben was just protecting his damn kid. Hell, Charlie was twenty now - a full-grown adult who Miles had known for _less than two months _- and seeing her in danger was enough to inspire panic in _Miles Matheson _- evil dictator, torturer, and mass murderer. If he'd been in soft-hearted Ben's place, and he'd seen someone drive around like that with _his _Charlie as a tiny little kid, he'd probably have lost it too.

He's managed to mostly stop shaking, so he takes a couple more steadying breaths, then rises, rubbing the back of one hand across his eyes to dispel a growing headache. A soft scrape sounds in the corridor outside, and Miles draws his sword before he hears Nora's voice:

"Miles?"

"Yeah." He sheathes the sword and steps out of the alcove. Nora's standing there, silhouetted in flickering torchlight from the other end of the tunnel. A sudden, wrenching thought occurs to him. "Charlie okay?"

"She's fine." Her tone is gentler than usual; she'd heard his voice shake back on the stairs, and now she's found him lurking in a dark corner, and she's not an idiot. She doesn't ask if _he's _okay, but the question hangs unspoken in the tilt of her dark eyes. She steps a little closer, studying his face in the half-dark, and says, "Of course, Aaron's now taught her several hundred of the most obnoxious knock-knock jokes in the book, so we're going to have to deal with that the rest of the trip."

Miles tries to laugh, but he's still too raw, and it comes out a little strangled. He looks away down the tunnel. "Damn kid's annoying enough already."

He hears Nora snort, then she's grabbing his sleeve with one hand and his cheek with the other, pulling him in for a kiss, fingers tugging at his jacket and tangling in the back of his short hair. And he finds he needs this kiss like he needs oxygen, desperately and without reservation. For a moment, it's smooth lips and jasmine-and-gunpowder hair and a soft moan that sends a shot of fire straight through to his belly. Nora's back hits the concrete wall with a _thud _-

- and Aaron's worried voice travels down the tunnel. "Guys? Small problem..."

Miles jumps back, breathing hard and looking at Nora, and then they both break apart and sprint down the tunnel toward Aaron and Charlie.

Miles arrives, sword drawn, Nora at his heels, to find Aaron holding up an almost-burned-out torch. Aaron's eyes widen when he sees Miles running at him with a drawn sword and as Miles skids to a halt, looking around for an enemy, Aaron mutters guiltily, "Um, the torches are burning kinda low. I said it was a _small _problem, but, you know, I do need to be able to see if Charlie's head wound is still bleeding…"

Miles looks down at Aaron, sheepishly holding up the low-burning torch, and feels sudden hysterical laughter trying to escape from his chest. He's got to be grinning a little like a maniac, because Aaron looks at him like he is one. A single chuckle bubbles up and escapes, and then Miles begins to laugh in earnest, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, as he slumps to the floor in a fit of desperate merriment, sword clattering to the ground.

Aaron and Nora look at him like he's gone insane. Then Charlie, leaning back against the wall near Aaron, holding a rag against the side of her head, starts to laugh too. Aaron looks at her, at the torch, and then at back Miles - and then he bursts into laughter as well. Nora just stares at all three of them. Then a very unladylike guffaw bursts from her lips, and she slumps next to Miles on the floor, giggling uncontrollably.

For a few glorious moments, they forget about Monroe and the Militia and the fact that they'll all probably be dead by tomorrow - and just laugh.

Because really, what the hell else can they do?

When the moment fades to just the occasional chuckle, Miles picks up his sword and stands, reaching out a hand to pull Nora to her feet. Without a word, he walks five feet down the tunnel to a sconce containing a brand new torch, pulls it out, comes back, and hands it to Aaron. Aaron blinks at it, then at Miles, and wordlessly lights it with the old torch. Miles can feel Nora, beside him, choking back another bout of hysterical laughter.

He's drained to exhaustion, and Charlie's head is still bleeding, so he gives them all another two hours and sends Nora and Aaron off to sleep for the first hour while he sits with Charlie. An hour later, he wakes Nora up to trade with him. He's not happy about it, but he can barely keep his eyes open, and he'll be useless in Philly if he doesn't get some sleep.

Philly. This whole damn trip, he's been wondering what the hell he was going to do once they got to Philly, and now they're here, and suddenly, he realizes he already knows. The key had been right there in his own words to Charlie. He'd thought he was going to lose her, and what had he said? Not, "I'll burn the whole goddamn Militia to the ground." Not even, "I'll kill Monroe for you."

No, just: "I promise, _I am going to get Danny back_." As he drops off for a last hour of sleep, Miles knows with absolute clarity that he's going to keep that promise, no matter what happens on the other side of that door.

Because Charlie Matheson is his _family_.

And for the first time, Miles Matheson is starting to understand what that means.


End file.
